


Some confusion on the part of both parties concerned

by what_a_dork_fish



Series: Cheriks [22]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Bromance to Romance, Christmas Fluff, Emma is a good friend tbh, Fluff, M/M, dadneto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 12:33:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16744069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_a_dork_fish/pseuds/what_a_dork_fish
Summary: Erik frets and Charles forgets.





	Some confusion on the part of both parties concerned

**Author's Note:**

> Spot the people with these mental illnesses:
> 
> -Autism  
> -Sensory processing disorder  
> -ADHD  
> -OCD

Charles sips his tea and listens to Kurt babble cheerfully, waving his chubby little blue hands, one of which Raven is trying to hold still so she can wipe the whipped cream off it. She’s frowning, but her grip is gentle, and Kurt grins up at her with no fear of rebuke. Charles smiles and hands Kurt another strawberry. Kurt immediately stuffs the berry in his mouth, and holds still long enough for his mother to clean his hands.

“You’ve certainly had a busy day, love,” Charles tells Kurt, wiping the dribble of juice and spit off the toddler’s chin with a napkin. “What are you going to do tomorrow?”

“Lots!” Kurt carols, bouncing in his seat, tail waving in happy little snaps. “We’re gonna go to the museum, and then we’re gonna go to the park, and then Mama is taking me to daycare, right, Mama?” Kurt turns shining eyes on his mama, a child in awe of the ultimate power of his mother. Raven smiles and strokes his hair softly.

“Yes, baby,” she says, handing him another strawberry. She complains about Charles spoiling Kurt, but when they go to the special café that she could never afford on her actor’s stipend, she makes sure her baby has lots of good things. “Your papa is coming to meet us tomorrow night, though, so we have to go back to the boarding house early. Finish your cake, so we can go shopping.”

“Okay!” Kurt happily applies himself to his cake, listening with interest as Raven and Charles chat comfortably about what’s happening in their lives. Raven is the lead in the newest production, which she’s excited about. Finally, she won’t be relying so heavily on the stipend her stepfather left her. Kurt Marko always had preferred Raven. But she’s back in the game; she’ll be able to send her baby to a boarding school when he’s old enough, so he can have stability as he learns, and she will be bulking up her savings for retirement. As if she ever will retire. Charles knows she’s never happier than she is on the stage.

Charles doesn’t have much new besides the fact that he has a new boyfriend. He’s been told he’s too old for the dating pool, at forty-four, but his boyfriend is forty-six, so it’s okay. He doesn’t know how official they are, but his boyfriend accepted his invitation to Christmas, despite being Jewish. That’s a good sign, right?

Raven gives Charles an exasperated look. “Charles, knowing you, he probably thinks you two have been dating for six years and you only just now got the memo,” she tells him caustically.

Charles blushes and scowls. “I’m not _that_ oblivious,” he mutters, hiding behind his tea.

“Uh-huh. Ask Moira. Anyway, coming to Christmas is definitely good. You’ve warned him, right?” Her glare bores into him, and he sighs, picking up another biscuit but reluctant to eat it.

“Yes, I have. He knows what to expect from the cousins. I think they’ll be frightened of him, anyway. He’s rather intimidating to some people.” Charles smiles at his biscuit, thinking of his boyfriend. Tall, and foreboding, and so damn cute when he smiles or laughs or is caught singing to himself. Charles has ingratiated himself with the children, and now they gleefully rat out their father to Charles about all kinds of things, like how he fusses for hours before dates, or how he gets all “gooey” when he talks about Charles to them, or how he’s finally stopped making excuses to them for visiting Charles. It’s so unbelievably sweet how fully the whole family has absorbed Charles.

“Charles.”

He snaps back to the present. Kurt has taken his last biscuit and Raven is giving him the very familiar exasperated-yet-amused expression she often wore in childhood. “You’re a sap,” she accuses her brother.

Charles blushes. “I am not!” he protests, “He’s just—he’s so—I mean—I like him,” he ends lamely.

Kurt gazes at his uncle solemnly, then says, slightly muffled by the biscuit, “So marry him.”

Raven immediately bursts into laughter, as Charles blushes furiously and stammers protests.

~

Emma sighs heavily as Erik continues fretting over the phone.

“—I just don’t know if it’s official yet or not,” Erik repeats, sounding distressed. All of their phone conversations turn into this, and it’s annoying. “I mean, he invited me to Christmas, but that could just mean he thinks we’re good friends. My coworkers keep calling it a “bromance” but I don’t even know what that is. Are bromances like regular romances?”

“Depends,” Emma drawls as she walks into the café. “How many times have you slept with him?” She ignores the scandalized stares of the nearest old lady and her only-a-little-younger companion.

“Um…” Erik replies uncomfortably.

“Hmm, that’s certainly an answer,” Emma murmurs, smirking faintly as she looks around. Spotting the familiar blue figure among the boring humans, she oozes through the crowded café towards her. “I don’t think that counts as a bromance, sugar. Gotta go. I found her.” Emma hangs up and tucks her cellphone in her handbag, leaning down to kiss Kurt’s cheek. He squeals and kisses her cheek in turn, smearing her with sugar. She smiles and pats his hair—he’s the only child she’s ever felt any affection for and she will kill anyone who mistreats him—before looking up at Raven and the third occupant of the table. “Hey, kids. Azazel is going to be early tomorrow. Raven, will you introduce us?”

Raven doesn’t even try to hide her delight. She misses her husband and it’s terribly endearing, if entirely unpractical. “Of course. Emma, this is my brother, Professor Charles Xavier. Charles, this is the owner of the troupe, Miss Emma Frost.”

“Pleasure,” Charles says warmly, holding out his hand to shake. Emma obliges with a polite smile of her own. “Will you join us, Miss Frost?”

“No, thank you,” Emma replies, petting Kurt’s blue-black hair absently. “I just came to warn Raven and little Seymour here.”

“Seymour?” Charles repeats in an enquiring tone, amusedly bemused.

“GEE I’D LIKE A HAAARLEY MACHINE!” Kurt suddenly bellows, making the whole café jump. “RIDIN’ ROUND LIKE I WAS JAMES DEAN!”

Emma laughs, Raven shakes her head, and Charles beams. “That was lovely, dearheart!” he tells the child, and not with fake enthusiasm. “Have you learned the whole musical?”

Kurt nods vigorously. “Yeah! I like Seymour, he’s nice. Mama, can we watch it again when we get to the boarding house?” he asks Raven with a pout. Raven smiles and nods.

“Let’s vamoose, perhaps,” Charles says, just as a nervous-looking employee approaches. “Kurt, my love, maybe you can sing at the Christmas party. I’m sure the cousins would appreciate it.”

“Can I sing Evita?” Kurt asks eagerly, and when Charles nods, he squeals and wriggles in his seat. “Okay!”

“Come here, baby,” Raven murmurs, reaching for her son. “You got your hands all dirty again.”

“Shall I walk with you?” Emma asks Raven, moving out of the way so she can reach Kurt better. “The others will be meeting at the theatre soon.”

“That would be nice, thanks,” Raven replies, standing. Kurt hops off his chair and immediately grabs his mother’s hand. She squeezes his little fingers gently. “Charles? Will you be coming with us?”

Charles smiles regretfully and shakes his head. “No, I have a previous engagement. I’ll see you day after tomorrow, though.”

“Yeah.” Raven smirks. Charles drops his smile to glare at her. She chuckles evilly and wiggles her fingers in a mockery of a wave. “Have fun with your not-actually-a-boyfriend-yet, Charlie.”

“Thanks,” Charles grouses. He kisses his fingertip and presses it to Kurt’s cheek, then wheels back from the table. Emma blinks, but does not actually show her surprise beyond that. For all that she had assessed him in moments, she hadn’t actually noticed that he was in a wheelchair. Oh well, he’s completely at ease in it, and obviously knew exactly how people would react, so there’s no point wondering.

The four of them make their way out of the café. Raven plants a kiss on the top of Charles’ head, and then he goes one way and the three others go the opposite way. Kurt skips along between his mama and Emma, humming to himself. Emma brushes psychic fingers against his mind, and is pleased to see that, while he knows people don’t like how he looks, he also knows that it’s just because they’re narrow-minded and mean.

Emma bends and picks Kurt up, making him laugh and Raven look over sharply. Emma smiles innocently at her and kisses Kurt’s forehead. “Oof, sweetheart, you’re getting so big and strong,” Emma tells him, smiling as he grins. “A strapping young lad. When are you going to play Macbeth for me?”

“When I’m older, silly!” Kurt laughs, hugging her around the neck. “I gotta get tall!”

“You’re already tall!” Emma lifts him straight up, making him squeal with laughter again and lash his tail. “Look how tall you are, sugar!”

“Emma, please,” Raven sighs, though she’s smiling too. “He’s already eaten too many sweets.”

Emma pouts but sets Kurt down on the ground again. “You’re gonna need a nap, sweetie-pie,” she tells the boy, pinching his cheeks gently. “Promise you’ll be good during rehearsal?”

“I’m always good!” Kurt objects, trying to frown but ruining it with a smile.

“I know, darlin’, but I gotta be sure.” She’s about to say something else when her phone rings. She sighs heavily and fetches it out of her bag. It’s Erik again. “Oh dear. I have to take this. Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Raven replies, scooping her son up. He snuggles into her arms and lays his head on her shoulder, humming again.

“Thanks, sugar.” Emma hits the answer button and puts the phone to her ear. “This better be important, Lehnsherr.”

“He said he’s coming over early!” Erik wheezes, sounding absolutely panicky. “Emma, what do I do?!”

“Just get ready and read a book while you wait,” she replies waspishly. “Surely he’s been early before?”

“Well, yeah, but—yeah, he has. I just don’t know how to ask.”

“Ask what? If he’ll marry you?”

“EMMA!” Erik roars, so loud even Raven and Kurt hear. “That is not funny!”

“Sure it is,” Emma replies, but she isn’t smiling. “Look, if you don’t know how to say something, then don’t say it. Wait until Christmas. Hell, wait until Passover.”

“Fine.” He still sounds nervous, but perhaps he just needed to shout, because he’s calming down. “I just—I want this to be a good thing. I think it could be. If… if we tried, I think it could be good.”

“So keep up the hints. He’s bound to get it eventually.”

“Okay. Okay. Thank you.” And he hangs up.

Emma rolls her eyes and drops the phone back in her bag. “Men are idiots,” she mutters.

“Tell me about it,” Raven murmurs.

~

Charles flicks a speck of sugar off his knee and swallows hard. He’s always nervous before a date. He shouldn’t be. Erik is never awkward around him, and that’s so wonderfully relaxing. But he’s nervous.

Erik opens the door and Charles has to smile. Erik is obviously flustered over something; his hair is still wet from a hasty combing, and his mind is a tumble of thoughts and emotions. He also has a Doc McStuffins bandaid on his cheek.

“What happened?” Charles asks, amused. It must be just a scrape; if it were more than that, Erik would’ve cancelled. He’s very particular about showing physical “weakness” outside his home.

“Lorna threw a marble at me,” Erik answers, stone-faced as usual. But this is his embarrassed-stone-face. “Then she started crying and gave me a bandaid.”

“Oh dear. Is she alright?”

“Yes.” A tiny smile twitches the corner of Erik’s mouth. That’s the thing that had opened the doorway into Erik’s life; anyone who truly cares about his children is an automatic friend. He doesn’t have very many friends. But it’s an honor to be something other than his friend. “I promised I wouldn’t take the bandaid off until she said and she calmed down.”

“Wonderful. Are you allowed out of the house this afternoon?”

“Yes.” Erik looks over his shoulder for a moment, nods, and exits the house, locking the door firmly behind him. Then he looks at Charles again, and then away. His mind is a tumult, but Charles reads flustered admiration and something that makes his heart feel warmer and fuller. He wants to kiss Erik, but it’s far too early for that. Erik always seems to need time to warm up. That’s fine. Charles can wait.

They are going to a movie. Erik won’t put his arm around Charles like he does when they watch movies at home, but he’ll hold Charles’ hand. It’s a movie with guns; Erik will squeeze Charles’ hand very tight whenever a gunshot sounds, but he will give no other evidence of his phobia. He told Charles once, late at night, when the kids were asleep, why he’s so afraid of guns. Charles had held him for hours.

But getting into Erik’s van, chatting about small things on the way to the cinema, afternoon sunlight filling the windows, that night no longer exists. Charles feels all warm and fuzzy and tender, looking at Erik. He’s wonderful. Even if he does detest humans, at least he no longer talks about killing them all.

The movie is alright. Someone mutters something mean about Charles being in the way, but Erik doesn’t hear, which is good. He got in a fistfight a few weeks ago because someone called Charles a cripple. Charles had been quite torn on how to feel about that, but Erik had been so attentive that he’d given up being uncertain and settled on flattered and warmed. Erik is such a darling. Charles waits until they’re in line for popcorn to catch Erik’s hand and kiss his fingers, very lightly. Erik’s mind flushes with warm thoughts as he looks down to hide a smile from everyone else.

He holds Charles’ hand in the theater, as Charles predicted. He squeezes so tight during the gunfight that Charles automatically sends him a wash of telepathic calm, gently inserting a film of unreality between what Erik’s eyes are processing and the rest of his brain. He’d asked if he could do that. Erik had kissed him the first time he did it, testing it at home and alone, and told Charles that he was always welcome to do that when they watched a movie with guns. Charles will never do it outside of these parameters, but it feels good to know that Erik is okay with, and even welcomes, this one kind of intrusion.

Dinner is at a nice restaurant, and the haunted look in Erik’s eyes fades as the meal progresses.

Charles stays the night. He’s an adult. He can do that. But it still feels like an adventure. The twins are excitable and gleeful, and Lorna insists on checking the bandaid on Erik’s face at least five times. Wanda brushes Charles’ hair and hums, Pietro runs around the living room with his toy fighter jet making loud airplane noises, Lorna plays Doc McStuffins, and Erik holds Charles’ hand.

Bedtime comes and goes. Erik and Charles snuggle together in Erik’s bed, arms wrapped around each other, and just as Charles is about to drift off, Erik whispers, “Charles?”

“Hmm?”

Erik hesitates. He hesitates for so long, that Charles almost falls asleep. But then Erik continues, “Don’t leave.”

Charles smiles sleepily. “I won’t, darling.”

Erik smiles back.

~

Emma is sipping coffee when Erik texts her.

**Lehnsherr** : He stayed the night.

She raises an eyebrow, but she’s in a good mood, so she humors him.

**Me** : Is that a major stepping stone?

**Lehnsherr** : Well, he’s stayed over before, but this is the first time we shared a bed. But he’s really into old books, so he’s ranted to me about bed sharing being common, so maybe he just thinks we’re good friends.

Emma sighs and rubs her forehead. Spare her from oblivious fools.

**Me** : Just ask him if he likes you.

**Lehnsherr** : What if he doesn’t?

**Me** : Lehnsherr.

**Lehnsherr** : I’ll ask him after Christmas.

**Me** : Good. Now stop fussing.

Erik does not text her back after that, and Emma enjoys a nice lazy morning before heading out to go shopping again.

Just as she’s sitting down to a healthy lunch of sandwich, soup, and cider, neatly tucking her white gloves in the pockets of her baby-pink coat draped over the back of her chair, her phone rings. She sighs heavily and answers it. “This better be good,” she drawls.

“Emma he’s taking me to get a suit fitted for Christmas. Emma. Is this what friends do?”

Emma smirks. “No, sugar, that’s not what friends do. That’s what sugardaddies do.”

“He’s not my sugardaddy! He’s younger than me!”

“Mm-hm. Alright. Are you going to tell me anything interesting, or do I get to eat lunch now?”

“Fuck you, Emma, I’ll just call Janos.”

“Janos is sulking, don’t bother. And do you really expect him to give you good advice when he’s the one who thought he and Azazel were together right up until Azazel and Raven’s wedding?”

Indistinct grumbling. Emma stirs her soup, inhaling the lovely aroma and really wishing Erik would hang up so she can eat it before it gets cold.

“Okay. Fine. I—gotta go.” And the phone clicks off.

Emma shakes her head, puts her phone away, and gets on with tasting her lunch. It’s delectable.

Shopping is always fun. After she gets the necessaries done (ordering hats for the play, buying proper shoes, finding a reputable stage makeup supplier, setting up an appointment for her and the others at a salon for after the premiere), she heads out to get herself some new clothes.

An exclusive boutique is selling gorgeous jumpsuits in exactly the right shade of pale cream, with white embroidery. She smiles enigmatically at the young woman who takes her measurements, and the young woman blushes but continues quite professionally. Emma can sense her admiration, and as always, it makes Emma feel confident and lovely.

A cobbler has fancy boots in buttery suede. Emma enquires politely as to whether the cobbler has white suede, and when the old man nods, she smiles and thanks him. His apprentice keeps sneaking awed glances up at her as he traces her feet so that the boots are perfect.

Jewelers love Emma. She loves jewelers. She has an account at a high-end store right here in New York city, and when she walks in, the girl behind the counter abandons her lurking near a couple looking to buy to go to Emma with a bright smile.

“Miss Frost! Delightful to see you again,” the girl says warmly, taking Emma’s hand and kissing the back. “We have some pieces that Father put aside especially for you. Would you like to view them?”

“Of course, my dear Samantha,” Emma purrs. “That’s why I’m here. How are your studies?”

“Interesting. My professor insists that there are no great women artists, but I’m compiling a slideshow for him, and he will soon realize his mistake,” Samantha replies cheerfully, leading her to the door to the back of the shop. “Oh, may I request a meeting with Mrs. Darkholme? Acting is an art too, after all.”

“I shall relay your request as soon as I see her next,” Emma promises warmly.

The necklace, bracelets, and rings that have been set aside for Emma are absolutely charming. She praises them, admires their craft and the beauty of the gems, comments on how they truly showcase Samantha’s skill—because she can see quite clearly that it was Samantha who created these, even without reading her mind. And she leaves with the jewelry, leaving a grinning Samantha and several hundred thousand dollars behind.

Emma does not stay in the same boarding house as her troupe, oh no; she stays in a lovely penthouse she inherited from her second husband, that she often lets her niece-in-law inhabit for extended periods, just to give it some use. The niece is very grateful, since her job pays terribly, but she needs lots of space to have her friends over. Emma doesn’t mind helping her climb the social ladder. It’s good practice for working in government.

The penthouse is comforting in its silence. Emma sighs happily and sets her shopping bags in the bedroom before going to fetch a glass of wine and lounge on the sofa. She likes cities, but she likes silence and being alone even more. She’s often wondered if she should retire to Canada, or perhaps one of the Scandinavian countries. Not for a while, though. She sips her wine and smiles to herself. She will not retire until she has a successor. Her troupe will be famous before it goes down in flames.

After the wine, she goes to change clothes. She decides to wear her favorite pale lilac pantsuit, which is conservatively cut, but tailored so closely that she cuts a fabulous figure in it regardless. She braids her hair into a kind of crown around her head, adding little pins to hold down some of the curlier bits; each pin has a small gem on it, so that they twinkle in her hair. The shoes are kitten-heel and dark grey, of a material that can be easily cleaned of city filth. She feels gorgeous, and smiles at her reflection in the mirror, proud that her makeup has not budged all day.

She doesn’t really need to be so dressed up. She’s just going to meet Erik at the park. But she’s read that he’s grateful of her for warning away other people who might attempt to brave his brooding demeanor. And Emma is always willing to be beautiful and intimidating.

She pulls on her coat and gloves, tucks some honey candies into her handbag, and sails out of the penthouse.

The park is full of children playing in the snow while the adults hunch in their coats and complain. Emma feels quite smug, as she garners appreciative and wondering looks. Most people don’t care, and that’s fine. She has no illusions, she is not the center of the universe. But she can be a major celestial body that makes an impact on the lives of others. That’s a wonderful feeling.

Erik is building a wall out of snow with his youngest, while the twins chase each other, screaming with laughter. Emma smiles reluctantly; Kurt may be her precious jewel of a godson, but Erik’s kids are sweet, too. She walks right over to Erik and Lorna, mindful of the deepest filth, and waits patiently for them to grace her with their attention.

Lorna looks up and squeals, bouncing on her knees. “Auntie Em, Auntie Em!” she cries, “Look, we builded a wall!”

Erik stands and picks Lorna up, cradling her in his arms. This is important, because Lorna is well known for hugging Emma and getting smears all over her fancy clothing. Emma smiles politely and takes Lorna’s hand, holding it to let her have some point of contact. “I see it, my dear. You’ve done a splendid job,” Emma tells her, and feels a little better about having smudged gloves when Lorna beams at her.

“Auntie Em!” Wanda shrieks, and she and Pietro pelt over to run circles around her, their father, and their sister, bubbling over with glee. All three children know they can count on Emma to compliment everything they do, and so Pietro tells her proudly about how he was almost as fast as Lisa at recess last week, Wanda regales her with tales of how she studied so hard and for so long and got the best score in class, and Lorna bounces in her father’s arms, playing with Emma’s fingers because she has sensory processing issues and she always has to be touching things. She never wears gloves because they hurt, but she will happily fuss with other people’s hands as long as they let her.

Emma isn’t the motherly type. Erik knows her limits, and just as Emma starts to tire of the children, Erik says gently to his babies, “Okay, kidlets, Em and I have to talk about grown-up things. Lorna, promise you’ll stop touching the snow when your hands get red?”

“Yes, papa,” Lorna grumbles, but lets go of Emma and allows Erik to put her down. Wanda and Pietro complain, but it’s just a cursory complaint, and then they both take hold of their baby sister and drag her to the trees. She’s not allowed to climb, but she likes the bark while her siblings climb.

Erik watches them go with a proud smile, and then he turns to Emma and the smile fades. She raises her eyebrow at him.

“Well?” she asks dryly. “How’d the fitting go?”

“Fine,” Erik replies, and presses his lips together tightly. Emma crosses her arms over her chest. Finally, he sighs and continues. “He’s taken all four of us to get fittings for fancy clothes before, so the tailor’s seen me before. But—the tailor asked if it was for a wedding, and Charles said no, but he was blushing, so I think he read something off the tailor—I told you he’s a telepath, right?”

“Among other things,” Emma replies, vividly recalling some of their more scandalous conversations that she really hadn’t wanted to have.

“Okay. So I think he read the tailor, but he didn’t tell me what, so I think maybe he’s embarrassed, which doesn’t make sense, because—“ Erik suddenly stops, eyes going wide with sudden realization. And then panic enters his mind, but because he’s Erik, his face goes absolutely blank. “What if the tailor thought Charles was getting married?” Erik asks in a small voice.

Emma rubs her forehead and squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, then opens them and raises her head to tell Erik, “It’s also possible the tailor though you and Charles were getting married, and that’s why Charles was embarrassed. And why would he—“

Erik’s face goes even stonier, and his mind flatlines in shock. Emma scowls at him. “Oh, come on, you idiot, you can’t seriously believe other people don’t think you’re together.”

“I—“ Erik begins, then stops, frowning. Emma watches him think things over, impatient with his slowness. He’s brilliant, a genius, but when it comes to people, he’s a slow learner. It took him twenty years to figure out that touching was something people enjoyed, not just a societal norm that must be adhered to. He still doesn’t like casual touching, although obviously he considers Charles special. And there was that time some girl in college “broke up” with him in a dramatic fashion in front of dozens of people and he was very confused and said, “But don’t we have to be dating to break up?”

Come to think of it, this might be a very similar situation.

A lightbulb goes on in Emma’s head, but she hides her dismay. Oh no. Poor Erik. Poor Charles, too, but Emma has never met him, so she doesn’t care. But she’s known Erik since they were preteens. He’s the closest thing to a friend she has. And she really doesn’t want him to be hurt.

Finally Erik says, “So you’re saying it’s possible other people think we’re dating.”

“Yes.”

“And that might be why he was embarrassed.”

“Yes.”

“Does that mean we aren’t dating?”

“No.”

“What does it mean, then?”

“It means you have to ask him, soon.”

“What if he gets angry?”

“Erik, he obviously likes you. He won’t.”

Erik presses his lips together. He doesn’t believe Emma. But that’s fine with her. She shakes her head and tells him, “You have to ask for clarification. I know it’s scary, but you have to.”

He nods reluctantly. Emma reads that he’s thinking of all those times where asking for clarification had only earned him anger and pain instead of answers. But she also reads him comparing situations and factors and actions, and deciding that Charles would not be the kind of person to be angry over this. Good. He’s made a lot of progress in thirty years, and Emma’s proud of him for that.

“Next I see him is the Christmas party,” Erik says. “I’ll ask then.”

“Good.” Emma stares at Erik hard for a moment. Then she cracks a smile. “You’ll be okay, Erik. You’ll be okay.”

~

Charles is so busy getting university business wrapped up and visiting with Raven, Kurt, and Azazel, that he barely has time to finish up with the party planning. It’s going to be a big party, but there will be absolutely none of his family’s socialite friends. Scientists and their families, and Charles’ non-scientist friends, and Raven’s troupe, and a gaggle of children, will be the guests.

Alex and Darwin are godsends during this time. They quietly remind him of things that need to be done, and hold Hank off when the poor boy forgets that Charles is busy and tries to break down his door to discuss new ideas. Alex deals with hiring people like catering and decorators and making sure they all have the correct orders for the correct times; Darwin writes out and delivers invitations, speaks to frazzled contractors, gracefully fields offended socialites, and gently reminds Charles to eat. The boys are true lifesavers and Charles is so grateful to them.

Sean plays errand-boy quite cheerfully, as long as Charles provides burgers for lunch. He has already refused to do anything more, though, and that’s fine; even though Charles is paying him for his services, he still needs his job at the local salon to stay afloat.

Alex was recently laid off, though, so he’s pissed and needs something to do while he waits for employers to respond to his emails. Darwin is still driving taxis, but since his hours were cut, he has time to spend helping Charles. Charles himself is wondering if either man will accept his help getting them better jobs. Probably not. They have their pride. So he just emails them job listings and pays them for their time and service.

“Charles, you need to eat.”

Charles looks up from his final draft of his latest proposal and blinks owlishly at Darwin. “I do?” he asks, dazedly. “But I just did.”

Darwin sighs and puts a sandwich in front of him. “That was five hours ago,” he reminds Charles. “Eat.”

Charles sighs heavily and eats the sandwich. He doesn’t want to, but he does. Everyone fusses at him so much to “nourish” himself and make sure he doesn’t faint out of hunger, it’s very annoying.

His phone buzzes. It’s a text from Erik.

**Erik bby** : Did you eat lunch yet?

Charles smiles and types back quickly.

**Me** : I just started a sandwich.

**Erik bby** : Good. Just checking.

**Me** : Thank you, darling.

**Erik bby** : <3

**Me** : <3

“Who’s that?” Alex asks, making Charles jump.

“My friend,” he answers, quickly closing the text exchange. “He, um, he worries.” Actually Erik has taken it upon himself to make sure Charles conforms to the right mealtimes, and so he texts Charles at 12:30 on the dot to make sure he’s eaten. Charles is actually quite grateful, because he really does forget lunch a lot. And he knows this routine of checking up on people is important to Erik. He doesn’t know why, but he’s not going to discourage it.

Also he hasn’t told anyone that he and Erik are dating. The longer he waits, the more annoyed people are going to be—but it’s hard to say it. He hasn’t dated seriously for a long time. He feels like, if he says it, something bad will happen, and they’ll break up. He doesn’t want to. He wants to keep this. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him, romance-wise.

The rest of the day is lost in a haze of urgency, but he gets his part done, and thanks Alex, Darwin, and Sean for their services with a smile, and goes home.

He still lives at the old homestead. He doesn’t have to. It’s big and hard to keep up, even with his regiments of servants, handyfolk, and repair people. But he can’t give it up just yet. It’s his home.

Rolling into the front hall, he smiles to see James and John enthusiastically polishing the main staircase. No one really uses it, except guests, so it doesn’t need much polishing, but James and John need something to keep them busy. John sees Charles first, and throws down his polishing rag to hurtle down the stairs and slide across the antechamber to lean on Charles and squeal, “Look, look, Mister Xavier, we did a good job!”

“You certainly did!” Charles agrees, smiling and ruffling John’s hair. “It’s absolutely gleaming, lads.”

James doesn’t respond, but that’s fine. Charles knows he heard, but he’s too intent on his task to remove much of his attention. James is always this intense in what he does. The other adults get exasperated easily. Charles does his best not to. It’s not the boy’s fault, he’s just different, and that’s fine.

John, however, has trouble focusing on anything, except when he’s doing something that James is doing. Charles has a theory about that, but he hasn’t monitored the brothers enough to be sure, so he hasn’t said anything. He just knows that the boys appreciate it when he speaks to both of them as if nothing is different.

After another minute of talking, John runs back to his brother and takes up the polishing again, humming. Charles smiles softly and goes to look at the progress done in the ballroom.

He never uses the ballroom except for parties, so it was very dusty when they opened it again, but other than dust, a bit of discoloration on the ceiling in one corner, and faded curtains, it’s in wonderful condition. Mary is on a ladder, finishing with the ceiling, while Ariana polishes the chandelier, which has been winched down and now rests on a tarp on the floor, so the polish doesn’t stain anything. Paulie, Devin, and Bob are arguing by the windows, and from their repeated gesturing, the dirt on said windows is the problem. Ariana waves to Charles, and Charles waves back, before leaving to go talk to the kitchen folk. Everyone is under strict orders to bring their quarrels to Charles and not take them out on anyone else. Paulie will haul Devin and Bob to see Charles before it comes to blows.

The head cook nearly cried when Charles told her that the majority of food would be done by caterers, and now she cheerfully directs dinner prep without worrying about what she’ll have to save for the party. She presses some gluten-free cookies into Charles’ hands when he stops in the doorway to ask how things are going, and tells him, “It’s fine, dear, we’ve got it all under control. Go ahead and get ready for dinner.”

“Alright, Mrs. Henley,” Charles says, smiling. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“You’d starve, is what would happen. Go, go.”

Charles laughs and follows her orders.

Everyone is getting prepared. Most guests will leave at the end of the party, but some, especially the ones who come from farther away or who are bringing their children, will stay the night. So the guestrooms must be aired and cleaned, decorations must be brought out of hiding, and according to Xavier tradition, one of the sitting rooms adjacent to the ballroom must be prepared for children to get away from adults. Charles is sometimes accused of coddling every child he comes across; he prefers to think that he understands that children are tiny people who have limits, and those limits must be respected.

Everything is being done to perfection. He thanks everyone, then retires to his study to get a few last things done before dinner.

The gong rings—it’s an inside joke among the staff, now, that the gong is the only thing that’ll remind Charles to eat. He thinks it has to do with his years in boarding school, where the dinner-bell was the only signal, and if you didn’t hurry up, you’d miss supper. But he doesn’t really care the reason. He slaps his laptop shut and goes to the dining room.

Dinner is done in shifts, so that the kitchen and serving staff can sit to eat as well. Charles has decreed it that everyone eats in the servant’s mess, nearest the kitchen; it’s easier on the staff who have the chore of ferrying food from kitchen to table. There is no “upper-servant” and “lower-servant” anymore, and Charles does not demand special treatment. The others find this reasonable, so Charles sees no reason to go back to the old ways.

He knows his rich “friends” would be horrified. But he also knows that their opinions don’t matter. And so he cheerfully passes peas and smiles when Mary scolds him for not eating his carrots.

The Christmas party is in two days.

~

Emma is rather surprised when, after rehearsal, Raven approaches her and says, “Charles asked if you’d like to come to the party, too.”

Emma frowns slightly. “He doesn’t even know me.”

“He’s weird like that,” Raven replies with a shrug. “He told me to invite the rest of the troupe, since he thinks they’re more likely to agree if I say it, but I know most of them wouldn’t like it. Too many scientists. But you might like deflating some of the more annoying people who talk about how great it is that they go to Paris and Tokyo and Bangladesh for holidays and how worldly that makes them.” Raven grins fiercely and adds, “And I know there will be a rather shitty biologist that Charles hates and never invites who’ll try to gatecrash, and you’re the best at getting rid of people.”

Emma is immediately intrigued. It’s been a while since she’s been allowed to throw someone out of a party. “What’s this biologist’s field?” she asks.

“Something to do with genetics, like Charles, only this guy is convinced he’ll one day find a “cure” for being trans. He’s determined to get Charles on his side. It’ll never happen, but he tries.”

Emma’s lips curl into a sly smile. “Will Charles agree to me tearing this man to shreds?”

Raven’s grin turns downright evil. “I think he’d enjoy it, to be honest.”

~

The day of the party arrives, and Charles spends most of it cheerfully wearing himself to threads trying to help get everything ready. He begins receiving guests at five, and greets all of them with merriment. As the throng grows, people gathering in the ballroom and finding conversational partners, Charles gets more and more excited, because someone special is coming at six.

And just as the clock strikes six, Erik and Wanda walk through the door.

Charles laughs as Wanda cries out, “CHARLIE!” and shoves her way through the crowd to throw herself on him. He hugs back, grinning as she rubs her nose on his collar, a habit she has yet to break.

“Hello, dearheart! Where are your siblings?” he asks her, as she pulls back.

“Lorna’s too little and Pietro didn’t want to come,” she replies, and tugs his sleeve. “Charlie, Papa said there’d be cake. Will there?”

“Of course! After dinner, though, so you don’t get sick before the meal.” Charles smiles again as Wanda sighs dramatically. “There’s carrots, though.”

Her face immediately lights up again, and she turns and darts through the crowd to her father, who is stone-faced with embarrassment. Others with children look sympathetic; those without are giving him odd looks. Charles can’t stop smiling, though, knowing that half the Lehnsherr family is here.

Raven and Kurt arrive, and with them is Miss Frost. Charles greets all three warmly, and is just about to pass them on when Erik, who is still lingering near the doorway to the ballroom, says in a shocked voice, “ _Emma_?”

Miss Frost looks up sharply and stares at him for a moment, surprised. And then she grins, and says sweetly, “Lehnsherr, you didn’t tell me _this_ was the Charles you were talking about so much.”

“You know each other?” Charles asks, so surprised that he forgets to be polite.

“We went to school together,” Miss Frost tells Charles, still smiling, while Erik stands there like a statue, tense and obviously uncomfortable. “We’ve kept in touch since then.”

Wanda returns from her foray to the snack table, a small plate filled with carrots in her hands, and beams at Emma. “Auntie Em! You didn’t say you were coming!”

“I didn’t know you’d be here, sugar,” Miss Frost tells her, still quite amused, it seems. Raven is staring between the three of them in confusion, and Kurt is sucking his thumb as he watches Wanda curiously. “Come on, we’re holding up traffic. We’ll see you around, Mr. Xavier.” With a graceful wave of her hand, she walks away, herding Erik, Wanda, Raven, and Kurt out of the flow.

Charles shakes his head. He’s going to have to ask why Erik never mentioned Miss Frost. But first—he flicks on a smile and continues greeting his guests.

The party is in full swing by the time he gets away long enough to check on Erik. Erik is pressed tight to a wall, clutching a glass of punch and staring studiously at the ground. Charles doesn’t touch him, just wheels over and tells him, “There’s a sitting room just down the hall you can go to, if it’s too much.”

“Too loud,” Erik mutters, not looking up from the floor.

“The sitting room’s quieter,” Charles promises. “I’ll watch Wanda.”

Erik nods stiffly and eases away from the wall. Charles escorts him out of the ballroom, past the card room, where older guests are playing and talking, and to a chamber beside the one for kids, which already has two occupants reading picture books to each other. This fourth room is not open to any guest, so the lights aren’t on; but Erik has always seemed to prefer the dark. He visibly relaxes when Charles leads him into the room, and lets out a slow breath. Charles turns on a lamp by a chair, and in the dim yellow glow, he looks at Erik and feels his heart ache.

He loves Erik so much. It happens like this at times. He looks at him and feels so full of happiness and gratefulness and protective instincts that it hurts.

And he can’t stop it, he feels so full of love that he blurts, “Will you marry me?”

Erik blinks, and stares at him. His mind is frozen in shock, and Charles blushes furiously, cursing himself in his head. “I-I mean—I didn’t—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked like that, I—“

“Don’t we have to be dating to get to that point?” Erik interrupts, looking very confused.

It’s Charles’ turn to be startled, and he stares for a full two minutes before he manages to say, “I… I thought we were.”

They’re both silent, staring at each other. Charles is suddenly, terribly afraid. Does this mean less to Erik than it does to him? Does Erik not love him? Charles was sure he did, he was so sure, but what if he doesn’t?

Erik sets down his glass on a side table, walks over, bends down, and kisses Charles. Charles does not hesitate to kiss back, and gives in to the urge to read just his surface thoughts.

They’re in that mathematically precise Escher maze that they’re always in, ideas and thoughts connecting in surprising ways, cleanly shaped but oddly shaded—and the most prominent thought is one of relief. Charles finds himself laughing, also relieved, but also delighted, because yes, Erik does love him, and now that everything is certain, Erik feels more secure, and that is wonderful.

“Erik, darling, I love you.”

“I love you too, Charles.”

**Author's Note:**

> DO YOU KNOW HOW ANXIETY-INDUCING IT IS TO SAY "I will write a oneshot" AND END UP WITH 7k+ WORDS
> 
> DO YOU
> 
> It's done though so that's okay.
> 
> Comments = Life, Love, and Happiness


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